


Wings of Desire

by elrhiarhodan



Category: White Collar
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-11
Updated: 2011-03-11
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:18:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Academic A/U - Peter’s a lonely Mathmatics Post Doc, burned out and fed up with academia.  Neal and Elizabeth are glamorous, charming, Post Docs in Physics.  It’s Halloween, it’s windy, and Neal and Elizabeth and Peter are on a crash course with destiny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wings of Desire

It was Halloween and the winds that were whipping through the Quad were approaching gale force; no one's headgear was safe. The underclassmen were chasing after their beanies right and left - it was social death to be caught bareheaded during pledge week. Peter vaguely remembered those days - he hadn't been particularly interested in the Greek scene, with its esoteric rituals of humiliation and perpetual drunkenness.

He had come to the University to study, learn and quite possibly make history when he solved one of the Millennium Problems. Peter turned thirty today, and he was depressed. Over the past few months, he had come to the realization that he was bored with numbers. They no longer held any sort of fascination for him, and the thought of spending the rest of his life chasing after solutions to abstract equations that had no real meaning outside of the closed confines of academia made him miserable. And on top of everything, he was all alone – he had no friends, no lovers, no one with which to share his life, such as it was. He knew it was his own fault – he had shunned any form of a social life in favor of academic excellence, and now that he was burned out, he had nothing and no one to fall back on.

A freshman chasing a scarlet beanie nearly crashed into him, the kid was all elbows and knees under the billowing robes. Peter neatly sidestepped him and backed into someone else.

"Excuse me." The smooth tones of the apology were too familiar. _Caffrey. Shit._ He turned around reluctantly.

"Sorry." His own apology was terse to the point of rudeness.

"Well, hello, Professor Peter. Happy Halloween." The salutation was gently mocking in its deliberate inaccuracy. Peter was a post-doc, still not a member of the teaching staff. He knew that Caffrey was deriding him for his overly serious demeanor and his occasional tendency to lecture. Caffrey, on the other hand, was rarely serious and had a mad sort of charm that made him irresistible – to his fellow students, the teaching and research staff and just about anyone he encountered. Except for Peter, who felt a perverse need not to be charmed.

Today, in this crazy windstorm, Neal was wearing his trademark blue velvet beanie with a stacked set of propellers that were spinning madly. How he kept it on would have been a fascinating puzzle to Peter, if he wanted to admit to being fascinated by anything to do with Neal _fucking_ Caffrey.

"Hi, Professor Peter!" Elizabeth, Neal's brilliant, perky and extremely beautiful girlfriend was clinging to his arm, as if she were afraid to be blown away by the wind. She was wearing a matching blue velvet beanie – also with a set of stacked propellers. Like Caffrey’s, it seemed to be magically attached to her long dark hair. Peter smiled at her - as much as Neal annoyed him, he found himself almost irresistibly enchanted by Elizabeth. They were also Post Docs, but in the physics department. Neal in String Theory, Elizabeth in Quantum Mechanics, and both were far too old to be wearing those stupid caps with those stupid propellers.

Their paths shouldn’t have crossed at all, the math and physics departments were not connected in either proximity or University politics, but for some unfathomable reason, he saw either Neal and Elizabeth, together and separate, at least once a day. And when he did, he couldn’t keep his eyes off them. The waved at him from across the Quad, they regularly showed up at the same coffee shop he camped out in and the bookstore where he worked to supplement his meager graduate stipend. If he were a paranoid or suspicious man, he would have thought that Neal and Elizabeth were casually stalking him - but that thought was ridiculous, what would two beautiful people like that want with an dull, unhandsome, socially awkward academician like him?

Caffrey came into the bookstore at least once or twice a week, frequently spending several hundred dollars at a time, mostly on massive art books, but often on stacks of novels, history books and on one very memorable occasion, the complete Oxford English Dictionary – all twenty-some-odd volumes. Peter had helped carry the books out into a waiting car and he seethed when Neal pressed a fifty dollar bill into his hand as a tip. It was not because Neal had money and he didn’t, not that he was charming and handsome and could wear a stupid beanie with stupid propellers all the time and no one laughed or pointed or made fun of him, and no one noticed Peter.

No, Peter seethed because Neal charmed him just the way he charmed everyone. He looked into your eyes, made you think you were something special, and then you realized that you meant as much to him as the barista who made him his morning latte. Or maybe less. Elizabeth, for all her beauty, seemed less like a set of highly polished surfaces. There was something genuine about her and Peter couldn’t understand how she could be so attracted to a man like Neal Caffrey.

Well, yeah. If he stopped lying to himself, he could – he just didn’t want her to be attracted to Neal. What he didn’t really want to think about was whether he was jealous of Neal or jealous of Elizabeth.

"Where are you headed, Professor?" Neal was clearly laughing at him.

"Don't call me that. I'm not a professor." _And probably not ever._

"Okay - where are you heading, _Peter_.

He shrugged. "Why do you want to know?" At that, another terrific gust of wind sent everyone reeling - but those fucking beanies stayed put. To his utter amazement, Elizabeth tucked one gloved hand into his right arm, and Neal took the other.

"Come on, we're celebrating." They started dragging him along, heads bent into the swirling wind.

"Celebrating what?" Peter had to shout to make himself heard.

Neither of them answered. They finally made it out of the Quad, and while the winds were still fierce, they were no longer caught in the vortex created by the enclosed space. Peter struggled to disentangle himself from the pair, but they held fast and steered him up several blocks, past bars and restaurants, his favorite coffee house, into a more residential neighborhood. All of a sudden, Peter felt like Dorothy, and they three of them were swinging their legs out and around, with a little skip. For once, he didn’t feel like a tall, clumsy geek. Peter started to smile, then to laugh.

Neal and Elizabeth joined him and he couldn't recall the last time he was so happy. They continued that way, with the wind at their backs, their robes billowing like sails, and his companions' beanies insanely twirling, for another three blocks, until they steered him towards an enormous granite-clad building in the beaux-arts style. He stopped abruptly.

"Come on." Elizabeth tugged on his arm and Neal did the same.

"There's no point in digging in your heels now, Peter. Come on, let's get out of the wind."

He let them pull him up the stairs and inside - it wasn't an apartment house, but a private home. The foyer was tiled in an intricate marble mosaic, the walls were paneled in some type of glowing blond wood and there was a wrought-iron and glass cupola four stories up.

"What is this place? Who lives here?" Peter was instantly suspicious.

"It’s my home. I live here." Neal answered, a small smile on his lips.

"You? You're telling me this place is yours?" Peter was incredulous.

"Yeah - pretty much so."

"No, that’s not possible. Physics students don't live in multi-million dollar mansions."

"They do if they're trust fund babies. Just relax, Professor. Don't be so suspicious."

"I said, don't call me Professor." Peter felt his resistance to Neal, to whatever, weaken.

He watched Neal take off his robe – it was the first time he’d seen him without his academic garb. Neal was slim but his well-muscled body was clearly evident in the way his tailoring fit him. It was probably bespoke from some little-known, but terribly expensive men’s clothier in London. The twinge of envy became something more – not just for the clothing itself, but for the ease, the way he wore it. Something that Peter would never, in a million lifetimes, be able to carry off.

Neal turned and helped Elizabeth out of her gown and Peter nearly passed out when the blood drained out of his brain, into parts south.

“Is that what you wear all the time?” Was that really his voice – so harsh?

Elizabeth stood there, still wearing black leather gloves, so incongruous against the nearly transparent white cotton skirt and blouse. “Do you have a problem, Peter?” She sounded defensive, a little hurt. Neal stiffened, as if to defend her.

“No - no. It’s just that you - you take my breath away.” Peter couldn’t keep his eyes off of Elizabeth. _Were those her nipples?_ He realized he was being terribly rude, staring at her tits and he dragged her eyes up to her face.

“That’s better, Professor. Look at the lady’s eyes, not her breasts.” Neal’s tone was mocking, a little derisive. Peter didn’t bother to correct Neal.

Elizabeth kept those long black leather gloves on and Peter found it hard to breath when she reached for him. “Let me take your robe, _Peter_. He didn’t move as she deftly undid the closures on the worn black silk robe; he didn’t move as Neal pulled he from his shoulders. For some bizarre reason, he felt like he was being seduced, and that they’d start stripping the rest of his clothing if he didn’t move.

But to his disappointment, Neal simply gathered the fabric in his arms and hung it over the banister of a massive curving staircase. He stood there as they walked away, unsure and embarrassed.

“Come on, Peter.” Elizabeth smiled at him. “Join us.”

He followed the pair, still wearing those _fucking_ beanies, into the recesses of the vast house.

They ended up in an old-fashioned library, a circular room lined with books, a ladder on brass rails, several desks and a very welcoming seating area in front of a lit fireplace. Elizabeth pulled him deep into the room and he tried not to look as the back light from the fireplace made it very evident that she wore neither bra nor underpants. With a tug and a push, he found himself _propelled_ into a wing chair nearest to the fire. The warmth felt good and he could blame the heat for the flush on his cheeks.

“What’s your poison, Professor? Excuse me, _Peter_.” Neal was hovering at what looked to be a bar area built into the library’s wall. “Wine? Scotch? Beer?”

“Beer. Nothing fancy.” Peter’s tastes were simple, but he suspected that Neal’s weren’t, and he’d be handed some exotic brew made from artisanal water and hand-grown hops. And he’d love it. Neal surprised him with a bottle of Heisler Gold. His favorite - down market, cheap and satisfying.

Neal poured a glass of wine and handed it to Elizabeth, and then took one for himself. The pair settled on the couch, and just looked at him. This was all very strange. He took a sip of his beer, and then another. They unnerved him and he quickly drained the bottle. They kept staring at him, now unblinking. Two pairs of blue eyes, two pale, perfect faces, two dark heads capped with ridiculous hats.

He stifled a belch. Neal smirked.

“Okay - so what are we celebrating?” Peter tried to relax his face into a smile.

Elizabeth giggled. It was charming. “Your birthday, silly.”

“Oh.” Peter blinked. “Wait - how the hell did you know today was my birthday?”

Neal’s smirk evolved into a full fledged smile. “We like you. So we did a little research. Amazing what one can get from the Internet these days.”

Peter was torn between outrage and … something else. “That’s an invasion of privacy.” He sputtered.

Neal shrugged, a slight, elegant gesture. “Would another beer improve your mood, Dr. Grumpy?”

Peter didn’t know whether to laugh or stalk out of the place. He just handed his empty to Neal, who exchanged it for a fresh one.

“How does it feel to be thirty, Peter?” Instead of returning to the couch, Neal perched on the side of his chair.

Peter looked mournfully at the brown glass bottle and sighed. “It feels no different from being twenty-nine, which felt no different than twenty-eight. It’s just a number.” He took a sip from the bottle. “They’re all just stupid, meaningless numbers.”

“That’s a strange sentiment for a mathematician.”

“Well - they are.” Peter took another swallow. “Stupid, senseless, pointless numbers. Who gives a _fuck_ about them.” He didn’t bother disguising the bitterness of his feelings.

Elizabeth joined them, perching on the other side of his chair. He shouldn’t be this buzzed, not on a beer and a half.

“You don’t like math anymore?”

“You know something - I don’t think I _ever_ liked it.” Peter shocked himself. Where the hell did that come from?

He raised his bottle and made a toast. “Happy birthday to Peter Burke, who has just thrown away the last twelve years of his life!” His laughter was harsh, angry and he felt like crying. Hell, he _was_ crying. Bitter tears were streaming down his face.

Neal slid off the arm of his chair, and knelt before him. There was an expression on his face that Peter didn’t want to define as pity. Peter wiped his face, finished the rest of the second beer and tried to get up. Lethargy overtook him and he sank back into the chair.

Neal reached out and took one of his hands. “What if you could be something else, something completely different? What if you could leave everything behind, would you?”

That idea captured Peter’s attention. To just be able to escape, to leave this dry, empty world behind, to explore new horizons, new opportunities. He looked back at Neal, into eyes that were now blazing electric blue. His mouth went instantly dry. Peter turned to Elizabeth, and her eyes were also on fire.

Neal was stroking his fingers, running the tips of his own fingers over and over Peter’s calloused index finger, the merest feather of a touch. Every nerve in his body seemed to be responding, yet he couldn’t seem to get up.

“What ... what are you suggesting?”

Elizabeth leaned in and whispered, “A transformation.” She ran her fingers through his hair. “A radical change.”

Neal took his other hand. “How would like to be with us? Forever?”

Peter’s heart stopped, and then restarted, thudding hard. “You? Elizabeth?”

“Yes, both of us.”

“Together?” He forced the word out.

“And separately. All variations, all permutations.” Elizabeth’s voice was full of wicked promise.

Peter wished he could move - then he would be certain that this wasn’t a dream. In fact, he was almost sure it was a dream, born of loneliness and half admitted desires.

“No, Professor. This isn’t a dream.”

Peter looked back a Neal, back to eyes blazing an even hotter blue.

“Yes it is. You are too fine, too beautiful, too perfect to be interested in me. If I were awake, you’d be sitting in the coffee shop, looking at me, laughing at me.” Peter couldn’t keep the self-pity out of his voice. Hell - this was his dream, he could say whatever he wanted.

Elizabeth practically climbed into his lap, her gloved hands hot against his cheeks. “No, we weren’t laughing at you, we wouldn’t laugh at you. Why would you think that?”

“Because, because I’m always looking at you. Looking for you.” Peter finally admitted that if he didn’t seen them, either of them or the pair, his day felt like murder. “Because I’m so fucking obvious.”

Neal and Elizabeth looked at each other, and it seemed to Peter that they were communicating without words. Elizabeth nodded. Neal grasped his hands hard and gave a sharp tug. Peter fell to the carpet, Elizabeth tumbling with him.

“You aren’t dreaming, Peter. This is as real as it gets.” Neal pushed him onto his back and leaned over him, his face now Peter’s whole world, his eyes burning so bright that it hurt. Peter closed his eyes against the blue, and found himself completely opened to sensation. Neal’s breath was warm against his face, the scratch of stubble as the other man pressed his cheek against him, his lips moist against his ear, the words like an intimate kiss.

“We want _you_ Peter. We have been watching you for a long time, we knew you were the one for us.”

Peter tried to heave is body against Neal, he wanted to wrap his arms around him, to cradle that slim body against him. He opened his eyes and saw Neal pull back. He ached from the sudden chill.

“This _is_ a dream. I just don’t want to wake up.”

Neal shook his head. “Peter, what is it going to take for you to believe that this is _not_ a dream.”

“I can’t move.” He tried to lift one arm, and all of a sudden his strength returned and he sat up, leaning against the chair.

Elizabeth chuckled. “So much for that.” She snuggled up to him and Peter dared wrap an arm around her. She wriggled closer.

“Still believe it’s a dream?” Neal was on his knees, straddling him.

“Yes. Suggestion is a very powerful element of the dream state. Besides - this is still ridiculous”

Neal and Elizabeth shook their heads in exasperation. “Why?”

“Those god-damned beanies. They never come off. I have never seen you without them. Even today - how the hell is that? Are they permanently attached?”

Neal reached up and brushed the propellers, sending them spinning. His smile was a little sheepish, then devilish. Peter looked at Elizabeth. She wore a similar expression.

“Well, this is where everything does get strange. But I promise you, this isn’t a dream.”

Peter snorted. At least in his dream, he snorted. He figured that he was in his bed, muttering and snoring.

Neal got up, took off his suit jacket, his vest and then his tie. Peter’s mouth went dry. Neal’s shirt was as fine as Elizabeth’s and he could see the shadow of his small, dark nipples through the cotton. Neal began to unbutton the shirt. He didn’t make a production out of it - but there was something intensely sensual about the quick, tiny movements of his fingers against the cloth. He fiddled with the cuffs, pocketing what looked like solid gold cufflinks, and the shirt slipped from his shoulders.

Neal stood in front of the fireplace, naked from the waist up, his chest and shoulders and arms flawless and glowing in the flickering light. For the first time since they came inside, Peter heard the wind howl, a pane of glass rattling, the fire blazing as a rush of air swept through the house. He watched, dry-mouthed, as Neal raised both hands to his head and started to play with the stacked propellers, turning them right and left, like he was opening a combination lock. This should have been beyond ludicrous, but Peter couldn’t even blink. The room became unnaturally quiet - even the crackling of the fireplace was muffled. The he heard a distinct click. The propellers retracted, the beanie seemed to fold in on itself and just _disappeared_.

Neal arched his shoulders, stretched out his arms and flexed his fingers, breathing deeply. He turned to face the fireplace, his back to Peter and Elizabeth. Peter’s jaw dropped. Neal’s back was tattooed with the most exquisite set of wings. The ink was done so perfectly that the feathers looked real. Then they started to ripple and Peter blinked. What looked like primary feathers seemed to pop out of Neal’s skin, one, two, then a whole cascade. The tattoo came to life as bone and muscle shifted and two huge wings covered in blue-black feathers grew from Neal’s shoulder blades.

 _This is definitely a dream._ Peter pinched himself hard. Nothing changed.

Neal _flapped_ the massive pair of black wings and hissed, the sound both one of pain and near-sexual relief. The scent of sandalwood and juniper filled the room as the movement of those wings stirred the in the uncanny quiet of the library.

Peter didn’t know if his brain stopped working. He knew he wasn’t dreaming, but there was something wrong because Neal Caffrey just grew a pair of wings. He reached for the bottle of beer and sniffed - maybe Neal dropped a tab of acid in it.

Once again, Elizabeth seemed to read his mind. “No, we didn’t give you any hallucinogens. What you are seeing is real.”

He looked her in the eyes, but was distracted by her beanie, the propellers completely still, even though there was a breeze from Neal as he slowly flapped his fucking wings.

Peter got up, his legs _thankfully_ were working and he went to Neal. The other man must have felt him approach, because he went completely still.

“May I? May I touch them?”

“Yes.” Neal voice was the barest whisper.

Peter reached out and brushed just his fingertips along the scapular, where the wing grew out of Neal’s shoulder blades. The feathers were firm, small and silky. He stroked a little harder and Neal shuddered. Peter stepped back. “Did I hurt you?”

“No - but I - my wings are very sensitive.” Neal _fluttered_ them, just a bit. “I like your touch, though.”

Peter rubbed the back of his fingers against the coverts, feeling the heat pouring out of the muscle and bone, the ridges where the small feathers overlaid each over, like the scales of a fish. He stroked downward, and watched in fascination as the coverts, the large primary and secondary feathers shifted and twitched.

“Do you like that?” Peter didn’t recognize his own voice, it wasn’t that deep, that sensual.

“Yes - very much.”

Peter repeated the gesture on the other wing and Neal moaned, low, breathless.

Peter wanted to plunge his hands into Neal’s plumage, but he resisted. He just kept up the slow stroking until Neal finally begged him to stop. Peter did, but he never felt so powerful in his life. Neal’s wings flexed to full extension, and Peter thought they were at least twelve feet from tip to tip.

They remained extended for a breathless minute before Neal retracted them, and the folded up close to his body - truly like the wings of a bird. He turned around to face Peter.

“Well? You must have a few questions.”

Peter tried to read the expression on Neal’s face. There was pride in the tilt of that sharp, perfect chin, but also caution and maybe even a little fear.

Peter licked his lips. “Since I’m not dreaming and I really don’t think I’m tripping, I guess I have one question. Are you … human?”

“I was - once. Not anymore. I’ve been … enhanced.”

“Besides the obvious, what does that mean?” Peter was almost afraid of the answer. “Or if you tell me, you’ll have to kill me.”

Something crossed behind Neal’s eyes, but he smiled and Peter relaxed...just a little. “Somehow, I don’t think anyone would believe you, birthday boy.”

“Stop teasing him, Neal. We’ve come this far - he hasn’t run out screaming.” Elizabeth’s voice was dry, but Peter didn’t turn around to look at her. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Neal, who had started to pace, and was so obviously reluctant to say anything else.

Something just struck Peter as intensely funny and he started to chuckle. Neal stared at him and the chuckle became a belly laugh.

“What’s so fucking funny, Professor?”

“You, birdboy. You connive and flirt and all but drag me here for the purpose of revealing your big secret, and you can’t figure out how to tell me how it works. Don’t you know?”

“Of course I know. I just wanted … oh what the hell.” Neal dropped to floor and grabbed Peter, who let himself be pulled into the other man’s lap. He eased back against Neal’s bare chest, enjoying the feel of Neal’s arms wrapped around him.

“I’m just not accustomed to talking to anyone about it.”

Peter didn’t want to look back at Elizabeth, because he had a feeling - and she had one of those damn beanies.

Neal sighed and started to talk. He stopped, sighed again and finally seemed to find his bearings. “My father was abducted by aliens.”

Peter reared back to look Neal straight on, of all the incredible things he saw and heard this afternoon, that was the almost the strangest thing of all.

“It’s not what you think. I’m not some crazy hybrid. The aliens gave my father nanomech technology - and well, he used it on me.”

Peter was dumbstruck. “Your father experimented on you?”

“Not against my will. We discussed it for years, I was the one who decided I wanted wings.”

“You mean you had your choice of _modifications_?” Peter didn’t know if he wanted to hear the answer to that question.

Neal rubbed the back of his neck. “I know this seems really strange.”

“That’s putting it mildly. Birdboy.”

“Don’t call me Birdboy, Professor.” Neal held Peter close, resting his head on his shoulder.

Peter nuzzled at the warm, smooth skin. “Don’t call me Professor.”

Elizabeth, almost forgotten, dropped to the floor next to them. “Neal’s not the only one in this room with a beanie.”

Peter groaned. He was almost afraid of this. “Are you going to take your blouse off?”

She smirked at him. “Of course. Don’t you like girls, Peter?”

“Considering the fact that I can’t seem to keep my eyes off your breasts, I think you know the answer to that.” Peter proved his point by staring at her chest. He didn’t even think about blaming the heat of the fireplace for his flush.

Elizabeth got to her knees and held out her first her right hand - Neal tugged off her glove. She held out the left one to Peter, who gave her the same service for the other one. Ungloved, she pulled off her shirt. And yes, her breasts were just as magnificent as Peter imagined, full, buoyant, capped with tight, wine dark nipples. Finally, Elizabeth reached up and fiddled with the propellers of that damned beanie.

Just like Neal’s, it made a clicking noise before disappearing, and in a rush, a pair of wings seemed to explode out of her shoulders. Unlike Neal’s, Elizabeth’s wings were a creamy white, tipped with gold. Peter wanted to touch them, more than anything - but he couldn’t take his eyes from her breasts. He thought if he lifted a hand, it wouldn’t be to stroke _feathers_.

Neal whispered into his ear, “Peter, look at her face. You need to look away from her breasts.”

A scalding tide went from his belly to his hairline and beyond. Elizabeth chuckled and finally turned around.

If Neal’s wings were shaped like an eagles, Elizabeth’s were more like an egret’s - long and luxurious, the span almost twice as wide as she was tall.

Something occurred to Peter. Something dark and uncomfortable. Neal must have sensed a shift in his thought. “What’s the matter.”

“Are you brother and sister?” Peter couldn’t bring his voice above a whisper.

Elizabeth had no such problem. She whirled back to face him and just about shouted, “Are we _what_?”

“Siblings, kin. You know - you do sort of look alike. And you both share a very unique characteristic.” And once again, Peter couldn’t take his eyes off Elizabeth’s breasts. This was shaping up to be a problem, particularly when he could feel certain interesting developments in the area of Neal’s lap. Which set up a corresponding reaction in his own...lap.

“No, Peter. We aren’t siblings, kin or related in any way - except through the nanomechs.”

“Nanomechs? The thing the aliens gave your father?”

“Yes - subatomic machines that work on the cellular level. They are powered by stored neural activity, and suppressed by enzymes produced in a gland at the base of the brain.”

“So, your father _experimented_ on Elizabeth too?” Peter tried to wrap his brain around everything.

“No, Neal gave me the nanomechs. An engagement present, if you will.”

“Stop - please - just stop.” Peter thought his brain was about to explode. He didn’t know what to focus on first. Elizabeth’s breasts, the fact that she was engaged to Neal and that Neal _gave_ her wings.

“Will you please stop staring at my wife’s breasts, Peter.” Neal’s voice was smooth and just a bit evil.

Peter finally dragged his eyes away and looked up at Neal. “Your wife?”

“Elizabeth and I have been married for - how long, darling?”

“Fifty-two years?”

“It’s been so long, we’ve lost count.”

Peter set that information aside. Of all the amazing things he’s seen and heard this afternoon, the fact that Neal and Elizabeth had been married for over fifty years (although neither of them looked a day over thirty) seemed the least incredible.

He scrubbed at his face and tried to organized his thoughts. “Tell me more about how you gave these nanomechs to Elizabeth.”

“Oral sex.” Neal was blunt, but Elizabeth actually giggled.

“I gave him head, he gave me wings.”

Peter goggled at both of them. “That seems way too simple.”

“Actually, it is a little simplistic. Elizabeth’s cellular structure had to be prepped for the nanomechs.”

“And just how did you manage that?” Peter had visions of the lovely Elizabeth strapped down on a cold steel examination table, with all sorts of strange medical instruments hovering on gimbals.

“A glass of Bordeaux.”

“I wanted the dose in a glass of Champagne, but Neal said he’d rather save the vintage Roederer for our first anniversary.

Peter had a sudden, frightening thought. “The beer. You dosed my beer.”

Neal said nothing. Neither did Elizabeth.

Peter glared at Elizabeth. “You said you didn’t drug me.” He remembered the odd paralysis before Neal revealed his wings.

Elizabeth finally responded. “I said, we didn’t give you hallucinogens. There’s a big difference.”

Peter tried to get up, but Neal held him fast. “Relax, Peter. The cellular prep is harmless, and nothing will happen unless you want it. It will pass out of your system in twenty-four hours.”

He stopped struggling, and let himself relax again. The feel of Neal’s body behind him, the sight of Elizabeth’s naked torso burned into his eyelid - the wings seems secondary to these two people surrounding him, giving him something he never thought he’d have.

“Okay. Okay - but why me? Why have you fixated on me.”

Neal’s voice, that silky, seductive voice was driving all rational thought from his mind. “Why not you?”

Peter tried to concentrate, but the feel of Neal’s cheek, with its heavy, late-day beard against his own face was making it difficult. When Neal rubbed the blade of his nose against him, like he was a cat, Peter almost forgot to breathe.

“I’m not your type.” He tried not to sound pitiful.

Elizabeth moved closer, her plumage trailing on the rug. “Oh, Peter. You’re exactly our type. Strong, smart, handsome.”

“Have you...ever given wings to anyone else?” He hated himself for asking. It seemed like such a small and petty thing.

He felt Neal’s smile, and then a warm kiss against his jaw. “No, after Elizabeth, you are the first. And you will be the last.”

Peter didn’t know what to say, but his thoughts kept whirling around their choice of him. “I still don’t understand, why me?”

Elizabeth leaned forward and pressed a finger to his lips, to silence him. Peter’s already dry mouth when a little drier as her naked breasts brushed against him.

“Your loneliness. It’s been calling us for years.”

“What?”

Neal ran his hand down Peter’s chest, toying a little with the buttons, unfastening them one by one. “We’d feel you, lonely, hurting. I don’t know why - but you called to us.”

Peter tried to keep still as Neal’s warm hand found his bare flesh. “We’d dream about you. We became obsessed.” More kisses against his face. Peter closed his eyes, this was too unbelievable.

It became infinitely worse when Elizabeth’s small hand joined Neal’s inside his shirt. She didn’t go for the obvious erogenous zones, instead, she cupped his shoulder, smoothed her palm against the ball of bone and muscle. Peter bit his lip to stifle a moan of pleasure.

“You are strong - stronger than you can ever possibly know.” Her lips were now resting against his other cheek and he found it hard to breathe. “Can you just accept that you’ve been chosen and that we want you to be with us?”

Peter fought a battle he knew he was going to lose. “What happens if I say ‘no’ - what happens if I want to leave and never see you again?”

Neal took his hand away from Peter’s chest and carefully slide out from behind him, standing up and held out his hands to Peter. He stood up, face to face with the be-winged Neal for the first time, and for some reason he was surprised to see that he was still taller. Neal extended his wings and arched them, wrapping them around Peter, drawing him close, encasing him in a living darkness.

“You can walk away from this - but you’ll leave us aching for you for the rest of our lives. You are the missing piece of _us_. The feathers rustled as Neal stripped his shirt off, and Peter did gasped in purest pleasure at the feel of Neal’s plumage against his bare flesh. “We can make it so you remember nothing, we’ll never haunt your dreams again, but we’ll long for you for forever.”

There was little light in this feathered cocoon, but Neal’s eyes blazed blue and consumed his vision as Neal pressed close and captured his mouth. The kiss was gentle at first, a respectful salute, but Peter wanted more than respect. He opened his mouth and breathed, pulling air directly from Neal’s lungs, making the other man moan. He bit at Neal’s lips, licked and sucked and _ate_. Peter pulled Neal closer, one hand around his waist, the other at the back of his head, and the kiss became a duel - tongues like swords, all thrust and parry, advance and retreat, feint and riposte. It was Neal who drew back, gasping, and Peter _knew_ , he knew what he was going to do.

Neal’s wings furled back a little, an opening in the soft, rustling darkness, and Elizabeth stepped into the circle. Her hands were like brands on his back, tracing bone and muscle and tendon.

“Your back is strong, your wings will be magnificent - if you want then.” She pressed up close, and he felt her breast against him.

“Yes - yes. I want them, I want _everything_.” He did, he wanted to be part of this, to have them, what ever the cost.

“Then you know what you need to do, Peter.” Her voice was liquid with challenge. “Have you ever done this before? Have you ever taken a man’s cock into your mouth and made him come? Have you ever sucked a man to orgasm and swallowed it all?”

He didn’t know whether Elizabeth was expecting answers to her questions. He decided to demonstrate. Peter dropped to his knees, and in a few deft movements, he had Neal’s belt unbuckled and his trousers and briefs down. It had been a while - a long while since he’d been with a man, almost as long as it had been since he’d been with a woman. He gone so long _without_ that he wondered whether he just didn’t want anyone like that anymore. That he was just a sack of flesh and brain and bone, without desire. He knew now how wrong that way - and maybe, just maybe he had no desire because he was only meant for these two, and being with anyone else was wrong.

He took his time with Neal, exploring with hands and fingertips and lips and tongue and teeth. He relished the hard flesh, the taste of Neal’s precome, the heat that poured off him like a furnace. He teased him a bit more, until Neal dug his fingers into his hair and dragged him close.

“Take me, damn it.” The slight pain from the fingers pulling his hair created a delicious counterpoint, and Peter finally, finally swallowed him. Neal’s cock was too big to take whole, at least at the start, but Peter remembered the sensation, and the need to relax his throat. He let Neal fuck his mouth, to drive his cock deep, to himself slam home. This hurt too, but he breathed around the flesh and then through his nose. The fingers in his hair relaxed and gripped as Neal thrust in and out of his mouth. There were other sensations, too. First, Elizabeth at his back, but she moved away; then Neal’s plumage, the long, sharp primaries and coverts stroking his back in time with Neal’s thrusts. The feathers brushing against his flesh were as erotic a sensation as the hard cock in his mouth,

Peter lost all sense of time, he could have been at Neal for a few minutes or a few hours. He wasn’t tiring, but he wanted Neal’s climax, he wanted to be one of them. He hands moved from Neal’s hips to his ass and he let his fingers slide upwards, in deep between those hard, tight cheeks. Neal must have liked that, because the muscles eased and Peter’s fingers could continue their journey. He touched just the rim Neal’s hole, brushing at it and Neal’s cock jerked in his mouth, giving him a hot spurt of precome. He pushed upward, breaching the hole with just the tip of his index finger and Neal’s hands went tight in his hair, holding him close. He crooked that finger and Neal came hard, his wings completely extended.

Peter swallowed what felt like a gallon of semen, relishing the sharp, bitter taste. Even when the pulses stopped, he milked Neal for a little while longer, drinking down everything the other man gave him. When Neal finally pulled away, Peter licked his lips, catching the last of it.

The room was filled with the sounds of three people panting. Neal had fallen back on his ass, his wings stretched out, partially covering Elizabeth. _Her_ hands were busy under her skirt and her wings were a tangled pile of white and gold. Peter leaned back again one of the chairs, and watched Elizabeth pleasure herself, his hand idly stroking his own cock through his pants. Strangely, he felt no urgency to spend, even though watching Elizabeth’s busy fingers between her legs and her hard-nippled breasts gently swaying with her thrusts was one of the most erotic things he had ever seen.

She caught him looking and the expression on her face went from self-absorbed pleasure seeker to wicked seductress. Her movements became less frantic, more deliberate as she approached her own climax. Peter wondered what she’d do if he lifted up her skirt and put his mouth where her fingers were so busily working.

All of a sudden there was a sharp pain at his shoulder. Neal bit him. “Don’t do it. Not this time”

“Are you reading my mind?”

“No, but you’re a man, you’re obvious.” Neal licked and soothed the bite mark. “You’ll have plenty of time to eat her out - but not tonight. You don’t want to mix the nanomechs. Who knows what you’d end up with.”

Peter looked back at Neal - he had actually forgot about the wings. And then he forgot about them again as Elizabeth began to orgasm in a series of little shouts. Neal kissed Peter, a sharp salute and went to his wife, cradling her, kissing her, easing her through her climax.

Finally, the room fell silent, the breaking logs in dying fire and the occasional rattle of a loose window pane the only noise.

Peter broke that silence. “So, what now?” He didn’t feel any different. Except that he felt _happy_. Elizabeth crawled over to him, draping herself against his torso, and he reached around to draw her closer. She cupped a palm against his erection, nothing more than a gentle acknowledgment of his desire.

Neal got up to add more wood to the fireplace, and Peter again admired how beautiful his wings were, the blue-black feathers reflecting the orange flames. They were held back, high and tight, _like his ass_ , Peter couldn’t help but think. Task accomplished, Neal joined them again on the rug.

He brushed a kiss against Peter’s lips. “The nanomechs are already working.”

“How can you tell.”

Neal smiled and stroked his back. Peter felt something tug and pull at his skin. It didn’t hurt - the sensation was an ice cube rubbing across hot skin, then the gathering of nerves into gooseflesh. The feeling grew and his heart began to race. Neal pushed him onto his stomach and Peter rose onto his knees. What wasn’t painful became overwhelming and he began to convulse as bone and tissue altered to accept the augmentation.

The change was over in a matter of minutes, and Peter stayed on his hands and knees, panting like a dog. He was both exhilarated and exhausted, but he finally managed to stand. Yes, he had _wings_. He couldn’t see them but he could feel them dragging at his back and shoulders. He straightened his back and flexed, something flapped and then something crashed.

He whirled around, and something else crashed and shattered.

Neal grabbed him. “Hold still before you do any more damage.” There was laughter in Neal’s voice.

“I want to see them.”

“Just wait.” Neal took his hands and put them on his shoulders. “Feel my muscles - feel how they contract. Can you do that?

Peter felt the muscles bunch and flex and he watched Neal’s wings fold up tight. He mimicked the movements, and there were a few more crashes. It sounded like books being swept from shelves. Finally, finally, he felt the warm, silky softness of feather and the hard pulse of tendon and cartilage tuck up close against his back.

Elizabeth joined them - she had a shawl draped over her torso, and Peter was slightly dismayed.

Neal grinned. “Professor Peter, you are _such_ a dog. Peter didn’t bother to answer.

Neal pulled on his own pants, and led them out of the library, further into the recesses of the house.

“Where are we going?”

“The lab. I want my father to check you out. And you’ll need your beanie.”

“Lab? Father? Beanie?” Peter was confused, and he wasn’t sure why he needed a beanie.

“My father’s lab. It’s right this way. You’ll need a beanie - or something - to key the suppression enzymes. You can’t walk around all the time with your wings hanging out.”

“One thing - you said you were a trust-fund baby.” Peter didn’t like being played.

Neal snorted - “No - I never said _I_ was a trust fund baby - I just let you draw that conclusion.”

“You…” Peter tried to be aggravated but his annoyance just slipped away. What a stupid thing to focus on.

They came to a door at the end of a hallway with a keypad and a palm scanner. Neal entered a code and held his hand up to the scanner, and the door unlocked.

The lab was brightly lit, and absolutely _not_ what Peter was expecting. There were no sinister machines hovering over steel examination tables, no monitors, no lab animals with grotesque augmentations. To one side of the vast, empty space, there was a bank of computers, a wall of stacked video displays, and some other completely ordinary looking lab equipment. And a small man in a lab coat, classic geek-style glasses with black frames and thick lenses, and his own blue velvet beanie - except that his had three sets of propellers. The man was also wearing an orange _ascot_.

“Hi dad.” Neal was cheerful.

The small man grumbled. It sounded like “Don’t call me that” but Peter wasn’t sure.

Elizabeth went to Neal’s _dad_ , gave him a kiss on the cheek and called him Mozzie.

Peter simply said “Hello.”

The little man, _Mozzie_ circled him, peering at his wings. “Flex them.”

Peter tried, and nothing happened. Once again, Neal took his hands and placed them over his shoulders so he could learn the muscle movements. It took a few tries, but Peter was able to flex and fully extend his wings. He wished there was a mirror so he could see them. Then Elizabeth with over to the bank of monitors, and she must have turned on the cameras, because he was on display from all angles.

Peter forgot to breathe as he stared at _his wings._ They were magnificent - huge, with long bronze feathers. Similar to Neal’s, they were structured like a raptor’s - these were wings meant for soaring aloft on ever rising warm currents. A new thought occurred to him and he turned to Neal.

“Can I - can we fly?” He was almost afraid to hear the answer.

Neal smile was full of mischief. “What’s the point of wings if they can’t be used for their intended purpose. But you’ll need to be patient and wait until you’re strong enough.”

“I can do that.” Peter grinned. _I can be as patient as a saint, if it means flying_.

Mozzie kept giving him instructions - to extend, to contract, to flap, to flutter, and Peter found it easier and easier to comply. And he couldn’t take his eyes off of the monitor. Those were _his wings_.

Finally, Mozzie handed Neal one end of a tape measure and asked Peter to extend his wings out to the fullest. He could feel the tips of the primaries of both wings brush the walls.

“Sixteen feet, four inches. Four feet longer than yours, Neal.” For some reason, Mozzie seemed to enjoy relating that.

Peter looked at Neal sharply - was this a problem?

“Don’t worry - it’s not the size of a man’s wings but how well he uses them.”

Mozzie took a few more measurements and then just walked away without another word.

“Is he done?” Peter felt the strangest urge to whisper.

Neal nodded.

Peter didn’t even have to think about how to retract his wings - they just folded up against his back. He stood there, next to Neal - watching Elizabeth and Mozzie work on something.

“So - like your birthday present, Professor?”

Peter blinked. He had completely forgotten about his birthday. “Yeah. Thank you.”

Elizabeth and Mozzie came back, she was carrying a blue velvet beanie with a pair of stacked propellers.

Peter sighed. “Does it have to be a beanie?”

Mozzie glared at him. “You don’t like my beanies?”

Not wanting to insult the man, Peter sighed and took the headgear. “What should I do with this?”

“Try wearing it.” Mozzie’s tone was one of put-upon impatience.

Peter put the cap on, and felt something click, and then an extremely unpleasant crawling at the base of his skull. He watched the monitors as his wings just _disappeared_ , replaced by a very intricate tattoo of feathers covering his shoulders and back, disappearing into the waistband of his trousers.

Mozzie nodded and went back to his workstation, leaving Peter just standing there with Elizabeth and Neal. Both of them fiddled with the back of their heads and the blue beanies _popped_ out and their wings dissolved into tattoos.

Peter’s stomach rumbled. “I guess I’ve still got to eat?”

Neal threw an arm over his shoulder. “The nanomechs do a lot of things, but they don’t take care of the basic requirements. You still need to eat.”

They left the lab, found their way to a kitchen where Neal fixed them sandwiches. They talked about the practicalities - and Neal finally let him off the hook with the beanie. He didn’t really _need_ to wear it. All he needed with the key, which could easily be hidden by his hair. Moz, being bald, preferred to wear the beanie to disguise the latch. Neal reached up and gently disengaged the key from his hat. Peter ran his fingers through his hair and felt the small lump. He somehow knew just what needed to be done to trigger it, but considering the small space and his large wings, he decided not to. By the time they finished eating and talking, Peter was exhausted. He didn’t remember much after falling into bed.

* * *

It was 7 am and the alarm was chirping.

 _What a completely bizarre dream._

Eyes shut, trying to catch the remnants of the dream, Peter reached out to shut off the alarm clock. He ended up with a handful of velvet. He opened his eyes, squinting against the light. The velvet became a beanie. _It wasn’t a dream?_

Peter rolled over and found himself wrapped in a tangle of arms and legs.

“Morning, Professor.” There was a hand on his cock, slowly jacking him.

Peter smiled. No, definitely NOT a dream.

 __

FIN


End file.
